


Stillness of Memory

by floatingfeline



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hogwarts Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-18 22:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13110090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingfeline/pseuds/floatingfeline
Summary: Hadrian Black has led a charmed life. Funny how it only took a nightmare for it to all go wrong.Updates every Wednesday and Sunday.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry awoke in a dark room, his mind filled with fragments of nightmares. He had dreamt awful things that night. He dreamt of a man with a cold, red stare, his wand directing the destruction of Britain and other lands. 

But it was only a dream. Harry breathed in deeply to calm himself and took in the comforting atmosphere of his bedroom. As the son of the Black patriarch, he lived in luxury. His bedspreads were made of the finest silk, with accents of green and silver befitting of a Slytherin. 

The bedsheets were crumpled and stained with his sweat, a reminder of the visions that had haunted him. These nightmares had only started recently, just after his fifth year. Harry wasn’t sure why. The visions had an odd Seer-like quality to them, though Harry was sure that no such talent ran in the Black bloodline. 

Harry sighed and flicked his wand, casting a Tempus. It was five past eight. A good time as any, he supposed. Today, he would be getting his school supplies in Diagon Alley with his father. Regulus had always insisted that they’d go together so that Harry could be introduced to the more higher ranking members of their Pureblood society. 

Honestly, Harry didn’t see what was the point of it all. Though he was raised to appreciate Pureblood niceties, it seemed like rather a bore. All these pleasantries to convey such little meaning. It drove him to frustration. 

Just at that moment, his father entered the room.

“Are you ready for today, Harry?” Regulus asked.

“Of course, Father.” Harry replied, shrugging on his ermine-lined cloak.

“Good.” Regulus replied. “We are meeting the Malfoys today. They’ve taken on a new ward and they’d like to introduce him to the other members of our society. It’d be good to see which boy managed to impress the Malfoys. I’ve heard that he is not of our kind. Surprising, honestly. Lucius never struck me as the type of man that would accept those of a lesser blood.” 

Harry quirked his brow. This was news, indeed. The Malfoys rivalled Grandmother Walburga in their fanaticism about blood purity. 

-

When the Blacks apparated to Diagon Alley, they immediately strode towards Flourish and Blotts. A path cleared for them, as the shoppers surrounding them immediately moved to the side to escape their notice. Though Dark Magic was outlawed after Dumbledore’s defeat of Grindelwald, the Black family was still infamous for their proficiency in that domain. Few would dare to tread on their toes, for fear of retribution. It did not help their case that Grandmother Walburga was known for her spats of violence towards her later years. 

Normally, Harry would find this normal, a gesture befitting of the most Noble House of Black. After his nightmare the night before, however, Harry wasn’t so sure anymore. Something about this scene sat wrongly with him, somehow.

“Father?” Harry queried hesitantly. 

“Yes, son?” Regulus replied in a harried manner, as he scanned through Harry’s booklist. 

“Do you ever feel uncomfortable with how the public always seems to fear us? Sometimes, I’d wonder if we might be even more influential with the love of the people.” Harry said.

Regulus laughed at that. “Now you’re sounding like that Muggle-lover, Dumbledore! Has something gotten into you? It’s the Black tradition to inspire fear in those beneath us. Keep your love for those you need help from. There’s not enough to spare for those who present no benefit to our House.”

Harry nodded. That dream had really gotten to him. He resolved to put it out of his mind. If he continued spouting such philosophies unbefitting of a Black, it might diminish his standing in Slytherin. And that wouldn’t do.

It was at that instant, Harry noticed the platinum blond head of his classmate, Draco Malfoy. He strode towards him purposefully. His father had told him to take heed of the Malfoy’s new ward, and what better way than to speak to the Malfoy Heir himself?

“Hello, Draco.” Harry said with a coy smile. He had been involved with Draco for the past year, sneaking kisses behind the closed curtains of the four-poster beds. 

“Hello, Hadrian.” Draco said in a formal tone that’d rather surprised Harry. Draco hadn’t called him Hadrian since they were first years. “I’d like to introduce you to our family’s new ward, Tom Riddle. He’s a Muggleborn orphan that my father decided to take in, under the advisement of Minister Fudge. He’ll be joining us at Hogwarts next year.”

A pale, black-haired boy stepped out behind Draco. He extended one hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry paused. “A Mudblood? Draco, I’m shocked. Your father is one of the most ardent supporters of blood purity and he has Fudge eating out of his hand! There is no way you’d taken in one of his kind just like that.”

Riddle smirked and took back his hand. “Acting an awful lot like a Gryffindor now, Hadrian Black? Rather uncouth to express such sentiments in public, now that Grindelwald has been so thoroughly defeated. Perhaps you’d consider that there are higher powers that are backing my entry into Hogwarts.”

“And what higher powers might those be?” Harry said carelessly. Despite his calm exterior, inside, he was cursing himself. Though he loathed to admit it, this uncouth boy was right. Regulus would be beside himself had he heard Harry lose control like this. The dream he had the previous night flashed in his mind. A high, cold laugh. The death of Muggles by masked figures. Somehow, seeing Riddle had brought those images back in his mind. 

Suddenly, Harry felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. It was his father, accompanied closely by Lucius Malfoy. He could only hope that Regulus had not seen his transgression. 

“Ah, boys.” Lucius said silkily. “I’m glad to see all of you getting along. Hadrian, you and Draco must take care of young Riddle here. He has been recommended to Hogwarts under the direction of Professor Dumbledore himself. He had been living undetected in an orphanage for all these years. He somehow had escaped the Trace! No matter, the Wizengamot found that he was well fit to start fifth year despite missing so many years of school. A real prodigy, they said.”

Riddle nodded sweetly, though his eyes never left Harry’s. Harry felt a wave of coldness sweep through him. Perhaps he had been too quick in judging this Riddle. It was no easy feat to escape the Trace, let alone convince the Wizengamot to allow you to enter the OWL year despite no magical schooling. The Malfoys too, seemed thoroughly cowed by this decision of the Wizengamot’s, though there was no reason why they would even allow such an outcome to transpire. Though Dumbledore headed the Wizengamot, everyone knew that Lucius Malfoy was the one controlling the Ministry. Dumbledore did not care enough for politics to spend his days cultivating relationships and engaging in pleasantries. 

Something was amiss, and Harry had no idea what it was.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the 1st of September. Normally, Harry would feel overjoyed that he was going to return to Hogwarts, but this year the only emotion that Harry felt was dread. On all accounts, his year should be perfect. Though Harry was not the top in his year, he never really had any trouble in classes, what with the extra-curricular tutoring that he got during the summer holidays. Harry had also received his Prefect’s badge earlier that summer. By all means, his year was shaping up pretty well. Harry knew, though he loathed to admit it, his insecurities had only arisen after that encounter with Riddle. It had unnerved him to have been so wrong-footed with that boy. He had been almost Weasley-esque in his words.

Harry had been taught from a young age to control his emotions, to not let anything slip past his Pureblood mask. But somehow, this Riddle had managed to unnerve him.

Harry shook himself. He was freaking himself out again. That encounter had been an aberration. He clearly had been sleep-deprived after that awful nightmare the previous night, leading him to slip up in his pleasantries. Harry resolved himself to be the picture of courtesy to Riddle. If Riddle was as powerful as the Wizengamot thought, then it would be good to have such power on his side.

Harry had ambitions for politics, like his Grandfather Orion before him. No matter what Minister Fudge preached about fairness, power was the blood of Wizarding society. Be it political power or magical might, the ones that led were the ones that had the strength to do so. Even Dumbledore, the greatest pacifist of them all, had risen to greatness through the defeat of Grindelwald. How many foolish wizards had the man inspired by his tales of acceptance? And yet, it was the cold stone of Nuremgard and the blood of battle that had finally brought the Dark Lord down. Harry wanted power. He supposed that was why the Sorting Hat had placed him in Slytherin.

Waving goodbye to his father, Harry set off towards the train. He was determined to sit in Draco’s compartment so that he’d have a chance to make amends to Riddle. It would be silly to compromise on his political ambitions over a petty fight.

After a quick Point Me spell, Harry had located Draco’s compartment. Harry slid the door open, setting his bag down. He nodded briefly at his schoolmates, before sitting down. As expected, Daphne Greengrass had saved a seat for him. They were not close friends, but there was a certain hierarchy to be expected in Slytherin. As a Black, Harry was no stranger to preferential treatment.

“Hello, Hadrian.” Draco said coolly. It was clear that Draco had not forgotten Harry’s public slip up the month before.

Harry nodded at him, and turned his eyes to Riddle. It was time to make amends. Harry had decided over the holidays to act as if no offence had been done. Hopefully, it would be enough to make Riddle forget about it in the chaos of the new school term.

“It’s surprising for a student to join us during our OWL year, Riddle. How did you manage to learn magic in the Muggle world?” Harry asked.

Riddle turned towards him lazily. “I lived near the Eastern border, where Grindelwald’s army was its strongest. I learnt all I could to survive, I suppose. The Muggles around me were so afraid of the explosions and deaths that they didn’t really ask too many questions about what I was doing at the late of night.”

Riddle’s words seemed to pique Theodore Nott’s interest. There had been rumours that Nott’s father was a Grindelwald supporter, though those rumours that been quashed the moment the Dark Lord had been defeated.

“So you saw them then?” Nott asked, barely disguising his curiosity behind a blank façade. Riddle nodded, fiddling with his robes. He seemed reluctant to elaborate further as if he was waiting for some cue.

“Were they powerful?” Nott continued impatiently, not bothering to disguise his hunger any longer. Riddle smirked at Nott’s eagerness and paused a little before deciding to continue.

Harry felt oddly unnerved by this. It seemed as if Riddle had also made his fellow Slytherins forget their inhibitions.

“They were. They did not cast common spells, like the Stunners or Disarming charms in our textbooks. They cast Dark curses. In Durmstrang, it seems as if Dark Magic is celebrated, as opposed to outlawed like they are here in Hogwarts.”

Riddle had the entire compartment listening in to his tale now. Though Riddle had not yet been sorted, Harry was sure he would be in Slytherin. This Muggleborn had managed to worm his way into the minds of all the Slytherins here within the first few minutes of his arrival. Harry had once thought that Draco was the undeniable leader of the Slytherins, but now he wasn’t so sure. Draco’s form of power was hereditary, a given because of his parentage. Riddle’s power was far more insidious and dangerous. Riddle spoke to the Slytherin’s greatest desires. He understood their fears. This was true cunning, inherent and untaught.

“My orphanage, thankfully, was untouched in the chaos. The surrounding towns were raided but that was the most I saw of Grindelwald.” Riddle continued.

Harry frowned. That didn’t make sense. If Riddle had really been living in a Muggle orphanage, he doubted that Grindelwald’s men would spare them. Reports from the continent had spoken of the brutality of the rising Dark Lord against Muggles. Riddle had either been blessed by Merlin himself, or he was lying.

Draco seemed to have picked up on this too. A fine crease appeared on his forehead. “Riddle, you told me that you were taught by a kind wizard who lent you his books. The wizarding folk around the warring areas of the continent was devoid of our folk and of Muggles by the time you were grown. Who could’ve taught you the spells you needed to qualify for the fourth year then?”

Riddle waved his hand dismissively. “Dumbledore lent them to me when he came to the orphanage to pick me up.” Malfoy nodded, but he still seemed suspicious. Though Draco did not have his father’s keen intuition yet, even he could tell that something was amiss.

-

 

Tom Riddle stood in line with the rest of the First Years waiting for their turn under the Sorting Hat. He had read of the hat in Hogwarts: A History, though he had always thought that the hat would be more impressive than that. It was but a wrinkled, old hat. Who gave it the right to decide the fates of thousands of wizards and witches? But Tom knew that this was a rite of passage. He supposed he would end up in Slytherin. He had already made his place amongst the pack of snakes. Though he was but a Mudblood to them, being a ward of the Malfoy’s meant that he would be protected.

“Riddle, Tom!” called out Professor McGonagall. Tom stepped up to the front of the Great Hall, placing the hat on his head. He ignored the mutterings of the students around him. They were just like the kids at the orphanage, gossiping about Tom because he was different from the rest. He was the lone Fifth Year amongst a sea of First Years. Anyone would be hard-pressed not to gossip.

“Determined, ambitious, sly. You’d make a good Slytherin, Tom. But I also see kindness, understanding, braveness. And look, a healthy thirst for knowledge. You’d make a good Ravenclaw or even a Gryffindor.”

Tom grimaced. He couldn’t imagine being around the Ravenclaws. Knowledge was power, certainly, but what good was power if kept in the confines of one’s minds? And god, if he ended up in Gryffindor, Wizengamot or not, he was sure the Malfoys would disown him.

The hat chuckled a little in his ear. “As I thought. Better be SLYTHERIN!”

Tom got up stiffly and headed towards the Slytherin table. He sat in the seat next to Draco, sandwiched between him and Hadrian.

“So, Draco, what did you and Riddle get up to this summer?” Hadrian asked.

“Father and I educated Riddle on wizarding affairs, of course. Though Riddle is talented in spells and the sort, he has little knowledge of our world. Understandable, of course. Such deficiencies were easily remedied with a little education.” Draco said.

Riddle clenched his fists under the table, controlling his anger. Though he had clearly proven that he was a cut above the average student, the Malfoys still treated him with disdain. They prized blood over might, to the point of delusion. Sadly, his teacher back at the Eastern front was insistent upon him seeking wardship with the Malfoys.

“Power begets power, Tom. You must recognise that.” His _lehrer_ had said. And who was Riddle to argue with such a strong and wise wizard? He wished that his _lehrer_ would be with him now, to guide him through Hogwarts. Tom had long since forgotten about the Muggles that had abandoned him at the orphanage. His _lehrer_ was his true family, but the war had taken him away from Tom as well. Now, Tom was truly alone in this world.

“… Isn’t that right, Riddle?” Draco finished.

“Oh yes, Draco. I am only too grateful for the help you’ve given me these few months.” Tom replied. Though it pained him to say it, he had to keep up appearances. If not for himself, he had to do it for his _lehrer_. The man had sacrificed so much for Tom. It would be ungrateful not to carry out his final request.

-

 

It seemed as if Riddle could do no wrong. Harry and his housemates watched in disbelief as Riddle managed to answer all of the professors’ questions with ease. It seemed as if he’d read up on the textbooks beforehand because the knowledge he possessed was way beyond that required of the OWLs.

Even in Potions, which should’ve been difficult for someone unpracticed in the balancing of ingredients, Riddle excelled. Harry took this as a sign that he should be getting closer to Riddle. But there was something about Riddle that made Harry uncomfortable. It was a sense of awful familiarity. It didn’t entirely make sense to Harry, but Riddle reminded him of the recurring nightmare that Harry had been experiencing. Harry had been having more of those odd dreams recently now that he was at Hogwarts.

The most unnerving one was the one with Professor Dumbledore. The two of them had been sat in a boat, surrounded by a sea of grasping hands. The smell of decay and despair surrounded them as the sobbing Professor clutched onto Harry. In the dream, Dumbledore had begged Harry for death.

Harry had never really spoken to the Headmaster before this, which was why he was confused as to why he had dreamt of the man. Besides, Dumbledore always seemed jolly and a bit dotty, so it was odd to see him cry. And yet, the dream had seemed so real.

Harry had written a letter back to his Father asking about whether there were any Seers in his family, but his father had shut down that train of thought. And so, Harry was at a loss.

Thankfully, he was given a chance to interact with Riddle the following Potions class. Professor Snape had assigned them a project and Riddle had been assigned to work with Harry. The project was a hard one, and Snape wanted Riddle to work with someone he trusted to help the new student along. Harry was, fortunately, the one selected for the job because Draco was busy helping Goyle pass the class. Harry figured this would be a good chance as any to find out more about the Malfoy ward.

“We’ll have to research on Golpalott’s Third Law, so I’ll meet you in the library after dinner tonight?” Harry asked.

“I’m already familiar with Golpalott’s Third Law, thank you. Honestly, I’m used to working alone so how about we split up the work and just do it like that? No need for meetings or anything like that.” Riddle replied, not looking up from his cauldron.

“You can’t do that!” Harry exclaimed, feeling rather insulted. No one had ever declined him like this before. Perhaps Riddle wasn’t yet familiar with the workings of Hogwarts. He had been educated with the Muggles for the large part of his life, after all. Harry ignored his bruised ego, and tried again. “How about we just meet to figure out what we both know? It’d be fun I think, and this is quite a hard project.”

“If you insist,” Riddle replied calmly. Riddle turned away, pouring in the powdered Griffin claw into his potion.

Harry’s heart leapt at this. Finally, he would have a chance to figure out Riddle’s mysterious past. Though he felt a bit miffed at being treated like Riddle’s lackey, he figured it would be a necessary sacrifice.

Smiling to himself, Harry bottled his potion and headed to Snape’s desk to submit his Strengthening Solution. He couldn’t wait for dinner to be over.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was feeling awfully exhausted after Double Transfiguration, so he decided to take a lie down before his meeting with Riddle. He had been sleeping terribly lately, his dreams still haunted by the shadows of a life that seemed oddly familiar, yet distant at the same time. Even Daphne had commented that he seemed a little wan, the shadows under his eyes and the paleness of his skin giving him a sickly appearance. 

Harry shut his eyes and slipped into sleep. As he dreamt, he no longer saw the lake, but instead, he only experienced peaceful scenes. Harry saw himself laughing with his friends in the common room, only this time, the common room had drapes of gold and red instead of green and silver. He was playing chess on one of the plush chairs in front of the fireplace, except his opponent was not Draco, but a red-haired boy that Harry recognised as the youngest Weasley brother. Harry was studying at the library, flipping through books and practising spells with a bushy-haired buck-toothed girl. Though Harry had never spoken to the girl in his life, Harry felt certain that the girl’s name was Hermione Granger. She was a fifth year Gryffindor, brilliant but never as good as she was in their first year. She had peaked then, before succumbing to social pressure and abandoning her books to fit in with the other, more frivolous pursuits of her dormmates. 

When Harry awoke, he felt disconcerted. Why was he dreaming of the Gryffindor common room? Harry was certain that he had never entered Gryffindor Tower in his life. No decent Slytherin would ever catch himself anyway near that place, let alone the Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.

Perhaps he was imagining things. But even if he was, this had to mean something. Though there was no Seer blood in the Black family tree, Harry knew that such dreams could only arise with a potent magical catalyst. Something was up, and Harry wanted to get to the bottom of it. He decided that he would meet with the Weasley boy and Granger soon. If they were not having these odd dreams, he could be certain that the issue was not environmental. At that point, he would have to tell his Father about it. Harry was sure that wouldn’t go down to well. Father had always been a hypochondriac, especially when it came to Magical Maladies. After Mother had died, Regulus had hated anything to do with unwelcome visions. The Healers had said her illness was not hereditary, but Harry did not want to take any chances.

Though, he wasn’t entirely sure how he would even begin with the youngest Weasley boy. The Weasleys were pureblood, but they were never a family deserving of much respect from the Sacred Twenty Eight. The Black family tapestry still had the singe marks from where Cedrella Black was disowned for marrying Septimus Weasley. If he was seen fraternising with the Weasleys, he would certainly receive his family’s disapproval. Even worse, if he was caught speaking to Granger, he might even get ostracised by the rest of the Slytherins. His political ambitions would be a pipe dream at that point.

While Harry did not particularly feel strongly for the importance of blood purity, if there was one thing he had learnt from Grandfather Orion, it was that one had to understand the needs of their demographic. As a Black politician, Harry would never be very endearing to the Whigs, which were primarily comprised of halfblood or Muggleborn voters. He could only count on his fellow Tories, whose conservative sentiments lay closer to his own.

Harry sighed as he gathered his books in preparation for his meeting with Riddle. This was yet another secret that he had to keep to himself. It all made his head hurt. 

- 

_6 years ago_

Mrs Cole led Tom towards a blond-haired man with cheeky blue eyes. Mrs Cole seemed dazed, as she usually did when Tom’s  _lehrer_  came around. Tom had always found it odd that Mrs Cole never questioned the presence of this man, even though she was normally strict with any visitors the orphans received.

Tom walked sedately to the man’s side. They walked towards the entrance of the orphanage. Today, they would be travelling to the man’s library, at a place called Durmstrang, to begin Tom’s education. They often travelled there in recent years, though Tom always felt uncomfortable there. The students always looked at them with suspicion and fear. But today, something else was on Tom’s mind. It had been a question that Tom had always kept close to his heart, ever since that first time the man had arrived at his orphanage. 

“ _Lehrer_?” Tom asked hesitantly. “Why is it that you chose me over the rest of the boys at the orphanage?”

“Well, Tom. You possess a special power that the others here don’t. Young Billy Stubbs had physical power, so that was enough for the small world of Wool’s Orphanage. You and I, we have the power of Magic.”

“Magic? Is that what you call it?”

“Yes. That’s why things happen sometimes when you’re feeling angry. Remember Billy Stubbs’ rabbit?”

An odd expression crossed over Tom’s face. For the first time, he felt a sense of apprehension. How did this man know about his past? He had been sure that Mrs Cole hadn't said anything to him. He would've known if she had, because Tom always eavesdropped on Mrs Cole's conversations with other adults. Her door was made of a thin, cheap wood, and sound easily permeated into the corridor just outside it. 

“I didn’t do anything to Billy. You can ask Dennis Bishop, he’ll tell you.” Tom denied. He could never admit to what he did, or he was sure that his  _lehrer_  would never speak to him again. When Mrs Cole had told the other couples about his past, they had looked upon him with shock and disgust. No one wanted a  _freak_  for a son.

The man simply smiled and said, “I know he will tell me whatever he believes is the truth. But you have to remember, Tom, that there are different truths in this world. Which one is yours?”

-

When Harry entered the library, he was greeted by the sight of Riddle sitting alone, surrounded by his books. Harry had noticed that Riddle preferred to be alone. Though he had easily won over the other Slytherins with his magical skill, Riddle was still an outsider when it came to their pureblood customs and traditions. The children of the Sacred Twenty Eight had spent their lives together, after all. Their families had consciously mixed together with the intention of furthering their own name. No amount of talent could ever get past that.

But still, the fact that Riddle was able to establish himself as one of the leaders of their den of snakes was, within itself, rather remarkable. That was what Harry was here to learn today.

Harry sat himself down next to Riddle. “So where’s Draco?” Harry asked. “It’s odd to see you without him.”

“He’s with Crabbe and Goyle. I have my own tasks to do, so I can’t always be by his side.” Riddle replied. Riddle set his quill down, rolling up his Transfiguration essay and pushing his potions textbook towards Harry. “Here, I’ve indicated which pages are likely to be useful for our essay. Snape said we could work on any poison we wished, so I think it’s best if we choose something challenging. I’ve taken out Moste Potente Potions as a reference for the poison we want.”

Harry read through the pages of the book quickly. “How did you manage to convince Snape to let you take out Moste Potente Potions? He’s kinder to us Slytherins, but he isn’t that lenient. This is some dark stuff.”

Riddle shrugged. “I’m not so reckless as to approach Snape. Lockhart was the one that signed my form anyway. He was so proud of  _Gadding with Ghouls_  that he didn’t even read the title of the book I wanted.”

“Speaking of Lockhart, how did you manage to get so brilliant at Defense anyway? You said you were self-taught on the train, right? Defense is a highly practical subject. Even the Lestranges, who get Duelling practice every summer, aren’t as good as you. And you were raised with Muggles! Merlin knows no Muggleborn could’ve done it alone.” Harry felt quite pleased with himself. This was an opportunity to get to know more about Riddle’s past. There was no way a boy raised in a Muggle orphanage could’ve become so good without some external help. He was sure this flattery would get Riddle talking. It had always worked for Draco and the other Slytherins. 

To Harry's surprise, Riddle’s face closed off upon hearing Harry’s words. His tone turned vicious and quiet, and Harry felt an odd shiver go up his spine. Even when Grandmother Walburga had gone on her rage-fuelled spiels, it had never felt as frightening as this. “Black. Though I know that you hold some prejudices against those with my blood, remember that the Goyles are pure-blooded too. Funny how the purity of the liquid running through your veins has no effect on magical prowess. If it did, I would’ve ripped my veins out from my skin and replaced it with that of your pure-blooded kin. But it doesn’t, and so I don’t. I find it funny that with all your politicking amongst your pureblood peers, you are still so simple-minded. You, and the rest of your  _pure-bloods_ , forget to look at the examples of those you find inferior. For every Merlin, there was a King Arthur. It’s best not to forget that.”

Harry sputtered with anger. He hadn’t expected such a reponse from quiet, polite Riddle. No one had been so rude to him before. Did Riddle not know his place? He was only a ward of the Malfoys. Wizengamot or not, nothing could take away his low birth. Harry paused. But wasn't that what Riddle was just chiding him about? Perhaps he was being blinded by Riddle's blood, so much so that he'd almost forgotten the purpose of arranging this meeting with Riddle. He was going to find out the source of Riddle's strength, and antagonising him was no way to gain Riddle's trust. 

Harry composed himself. He could take this opportunity to wheedle some information out of Riddle, since Riddle was feeling uncharacteristically emotional. “So where did you learn about this Muggle politics?”

“Books, mostly. He gave me Machiavelli, Rawls, Locke; books on justice and power.”

“And who’s this  _he_  you keep referring to? Dumbledore again? Usually Muggleborns are only introduced into the magical world a month before they enter Hogwarts. It's rather impossible for you to gain five year's worth of magical knowledge and understand Muggle teachings within the span of a month."

Riddle pursed his lips. Clearly, he had not meant to reveal that much. “He was my teacher. A wizard, living under the Grindelwald-controlled areas of Europe.”

“That must’ve been where you learnt your magic, then! But he can’t be one of Grindelwald’s men. No self-respecting blood purist would even be caught anywhere near those books you speak of.” 

Riddle gave a wry smile. “No. I suppose you could say he was a fan, of sorts, of Dumbledore. They shared similar ideals once.”

“So, let me pick your brain. If I wanted to have political influence like the Malfoys, what would your Muggle philosophers tell me to do?”

“Well, some would tell you that humans start out as a blank slate, free from the corrupting influences of society. Kindness would be their tool of choice. Other philosophers will say that humans are inherently selfish and that these trappings of society serve to tame us. They would use strength and their might. But I’d say, if you want power amongst the population, and not just the snakes, you’d have to recruit them all. That’s what Grindelwald did, at the start.”

Harry was shocked to hear this. Draco had told all the Slytherins about Lucius’ tales from the continent. The Dark Lord had been cruel and his followers had followed in his direction. What Riddle said didn’t make sense at all.

Riddle seemed to have sensed that doubt, because he continued, “Of course, that was at the start. Towards the height of his regime, Grindelwald had no need to be popular. The ones he could’ve convinced, he had already made sufficiently loyal. The ones he couldn’t seduce with centrist promises, he knew that he could never recruit. And so, Grindelwald turned towards his true plans. He could enact the policies he had kept at the back of his mind all throughout his rise to power, with no fear of consequences since he had the numbers to squash any rebellion."

Their conversation moved away from politics after that, but Riddle’s words kept running in Harry’s mind. How did this Muggle-educated boy know such wisdom? Harry’s interest had been piqued by this mysterious Riddle. He would make sure he was friends with this prickly boy. Harry was no scholar of Muggle philosophy, but even he could recognise power when he saw it. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a fun chapter as Harry makes new friends and Tom gains a greater foothold in Slytherin. A plot device is also introduced to make this story a bit more action-based.
> 
> Writing is hard, folks. I’m travelling next week so I have to write a lot more than I’m used to. There are also Uni admission essays I have to do which are interesting, but mostly a pain. Why does so much depend on the assorted permutations of 27 characters? Kinda frightening, if you’d ask me.

Ronald Weasley, despite his blood-traitor status, was a surprisingly hard target to get to. Harry had tried to approach him after Potions, under the pretence of returning one of Weasley’s books that Harry had nicked from his bag. Weasley’s friends hadn’t gone ahead without him, as Harry expected, leaving Harry to deal with the suspicious glares of five Gryffindor boys. Harry had no choice but to return the Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five, to Weasley without comment.

In utter desperation, Harry had no choice but to resort to asking Draco Malfoy for help. They always shared an odd relationship, teetering between animosity and trust. The Riddle affair had put a wrench in their friendship, but now that Harry had made up with Riddle, he was sure that Draco would forgive him.

“So you’re speaking to me again, Black?” Draco said offhandedly as they walked towards the Great Hall for dinner.

“Oh, come off it. You were the one that was ignoring me because of some perceived affront to your family’s _ward_. I mean, of all things! We’ve done worse to each other over the years." 

Draco gave Harry a level look. “Don’t be obtuse, Harry. You know that Riddle is powerful. Hell, even the Wizengamot recognised it, and they’re the biggest bunch of old fogies there is. My father wants to run for Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards next year, and directly disobeying the Wizengamot’s orders would set back his plans by years!”

Harry rolled his eyes in frustration. Draco was always going on about his father and their grand plans. Sometimes he just wished he could shake Draco into having some sense. It had been obvious to Harry since their first year that Draco’s true passion lay in potions. Being a Potion Master was lucrative and prestigious, but to Draco, only politics was enough to make his father proud.

“Anyway, Riddle and I have made up, so you can take that stick out of your ass,” Harry replied snidely. “The point is, I need your help.”

“The _great_ Hadrian Black needs my help now, does he? Such a surprise, since a week ago, we weren’t even on speaking terms.” Draco replied.

“Alright, alright. I’ve apologised for that. I’ve been having some dreams recently.” Harry said abruptly. Draco’s face darkened. He had heard about the circumstances of Elladora Black’s (nee Greengrass) death. When he was six, Harry had to go to St Mungo’s on a daily basis to see his bed-ridden mother. She had succumbed to visions that slowly tore away at her sanity. The once noble witch had been reduced to a gibbering ball of tears, rocking back and forth on her hospital bed. Thankfully, Harry had been too young to remember the details of his mother’s death. Even so, the entirety of pureblood society had heard about the tale. Visions were never a good sign, especially not for the Blacks.

Hesitantly, Draco squeezed Harry’s shoulder. Draco knew that it was not advisable to wear his emotions on his sleeve like this, but Harry was his closest friend. 

“Have you spoken to your father about this? You should go see the Healers at St Mungo’s, you know. Just for a checkup, nothing too serious.” Draco said quietly. 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to kick up a fuss. Anyway, my dreams are rather tame. I keep dreaming about that Ronald Weasley and the Gryffindor common room. I was thinking, if I got a chance to speak to him, maybe it’d help clear out my mind. Mother’s dreams were about monsters and horrors. Mine aren’t like that. I was thinking it was probably a result of the residual magic in the castle. Remember when Zabini spoke in tongues for a week after the explosion in the Charms classroom near our dorm?” 

Draco raised one brow quizzically. “Weasley, of all people? I suppose you want me to get you some time with him then. That’ll cost you.”

Harry laughed. No matter how caring Draco was, he was still a Slytherin. It was nice to know some things didn’t change. “I’ll trade you a handjob for your help.”

“Deal. Weasley will be yours by Transfiguration.” Draco winked lasciviously as Harry grimaced in disgust. He was sure if his father was around to hear that, Regulus would’ve died of a heart attack. Dalliances with Weasleys was something even his father would baulk at. 

-

 “Weasley.” Harry greeted the redhead as he slid into the seat adjacent to Weasley’s. Weasley didn’t even respond, merely staring at Harry open-mouthed. Harry thought that Weasley rather resembled a gormless, freckled troll.

After a pause, Weasley seemed to register what was going on. “What are you doing here, Black? Don’t you usually sit with Malfoy in Transfiguration?”

“Yeah, Black, I usually sit here.” A sandy-haired boy with an Irish accent stood in front of their table as if he was expecting Harry to move. Harry wondered if all Gryffindors were this socially inept. It was just the seating arrangement. There was no need for them to make such a fuss about it.

It was at this point that Draco cut in, his words laced with derision. “Harry’s sitting there because of me. McGonagall assigned me to sit next to you, Finnegan. She said you needed some _extra tutoring_.”

Finnegan flushed. He had always struggled with Transfiguration. They were Vanishing reptiles today, a feat that most OWL students had issues with. The previous lesson, the Flobberworms that Finnegan had tried to vanish had shot up Weasley’s nose, causing their entire lesson to be disrupted. By the time McGonagall had finished preventing Weasley from suffocating to death, the lesson was already over.

Harry was rather impressed by the alibi that Draco had come up with. Sometimes, he wondered how Draco remembered this random trivia about their classmates. Harry supposed that was why Draco did so well in pureblood society. Harry would never be able to do that. If he’d bothered to remember all this nonsense, he’d have no space in his head to keep track of the more important things in life, like Quidditch scores and other factoids.

“Oh, shut your trap, Malfoy,” Weasley said grumpily. “I’ll sit with Black.”

As they were practising the wand movements for the Vanishing spell, Harry decided to make his move. This was his one chance of finding out more about his visions, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

“Have you been sleeping well recently, Weasley?” Harry asked awkwardly, not daring to look into Weasley’s eyes. Harry flicked his wand with added vigour, pretending to be engrossed in the spellwork. Harry waited a bit for Weasley’s response but to no avail. When Harry finally decided to look up at Weasley, he was greeted by the sight of Weasley’s molars. Apparently, Weasley was so shocked that he had lost his ability to speak. Harry sighed and concluded that it was true after all. The Weasleys were really related to trolls.

“Are you…” Weasley stuttered. “Are you hitting on me?!” 

“Circe, no! That’s disgusting. I’m gay, but I have standards, you know.” Harry was horrified. This was the worst idea he’d ever had. If it got back to his father that he was gay for a Weasley, he’d most certainly be disinherited.

Weasley sighed in relief. In the haze of it all, he hadn’t realised that Harry had insulted him just moments earlier. “Thank Merlin. I’m not gay, but even if I was, I think Fred and George would maim me if I ever got involved with a Slytherin. “

Harry laughed. Somehow, Weasley and he had something in common after all. Both their families would rather see them die than to let them end up as lovers. Weasley looked a little shocked at this. Upon seeing Harry’s curious look, he said sheepishly, “I’d never imagined you Slytherins could laugh. I thought you’d all cackle maniacally or something like that.”

Harry feigned a look of horror. “Oh no! You can’t tell anyone that. Snape threatened to chain us in the dungeons if we laughed outside of the Common Room.”

Ron sniggered. “I suppose the rumours about his _unique_ preferences in the bedroom are true then. You know, Black, you’re not that bad after all. It’s not every day that a stuck-up pureblood snot can take a few jibes. Call me Ron, by the way. All that Weasley business gets confusing in such a big family.”

“And you can call me Harry,” Harry said with a smile. Perhaps this whole venture wasn’t that much of a failure after all. 

- 

After the class, Draco sidled up next to Harry and asked, “You got your answer, then?”

It was at that point that Harry realised he had completely forgotten his purpose in speaking to Weasley. He groaned, mashing the base of his hand into his forehead. Perhaps he was losing his touch. He’d never been so completely distracted he’d forgone his own plans before. First Riddle, now this. Soon, he’d do something ridiculous, like free a house elf or face a mountain troll!

Draco looked at him in shock. “Merlin’s beard, Potter. These dreams must be affecting you if you’re this forgetful. We’d best get you cured quick, or you’d starting swearing fealty to Grindelwald or something like that.”

It was at that point Riddle joined them. The boy had perked up upon mention of Grindelwald’s name like he always did. The rest of the Slytherins though that Riddle must have had some fetish for the Dark Arts because no one in their right mind would be so interested in a _fallen_ Dark Lord. It just wasn’t the fashionable thing to do.

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation when he saw Riddle. “Oh come on, Riddle. You must stop this Grindelwald obsession of yours. It’ll bring shame to the Malfoy name if the likes of Dumbledore sees you acting this way. They’d think we’d brainwashed you into being some slave of the Dark Arts. Father would kill me if that happened. It’d completely ruin his chances to become Supreme Mugwump.”

Riddle merely smiled and said quietly, “I see no issue in examining the fall of a Dark Lord. Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it, after all.” 

“Is that something your Muggle philosophers said, Riddle?” Harry joked. 

“It’s more of an aphorism, really,” Riddle replied.

Draco seemed shocked by this. “You, Tom Riddle, are reading the works of Muggle philosophers? I thought you’d find them disgusting! I certainly would, after seeing the imbeciles at that orphanage of yours. I couldn’t bear to even _touch_ one of these Muggle philosophy-things.” 

“Knowledge is power, Draco. You should know that, given your background.” Riddle replied.

Draco growled upon hearing this. He always had a short fuse. Honestly, Harry was surprised he hadn’t flared up at Riddle before this. The Muggleborn was gaining in power within their little Slytherin society, and Draco would never tolerate that. 

“Don’t insult me, Riddle. You’re our family’s ward and you best be thankful for it.” Draco spat the words out like they were poison, glaring at Riddle all the while.

“I meant no insult. I simply meant that a man of your calibre would know better than any of us that knowledge is power. Your father demonstrated that principle magnificently. I always see him collecting information on his allies and enemies, and I’d thought you would do the same.” Riddle’s words were honeyed and sly. As Harry watched Draco’s fists unclench, he realised Riddle’s words had done the trick. By playing on Draco’s pride, Riddle had managed to get what he’d wanted, yet again. Was there no end to what this boy could do?

“Thank you, Tom. And you’re right. I propose we form a club, just of some select Slytherins, to examine these philosophies of yours. If we are to rule Wizarding society, we can’t only have the knowledge that our professors deign to teach us.” Draco said self-importantly.

Riddle smirked at this. It was clear that he’d meant to achieve this all along. If Riddle was caught with those Muggle books, he’d certainly become the laughingstock of Slytherin, Malfoy ward or not. However, if the Malfoy heir decided to endorse this activity and present it as a reward for the Slytherin elite, Riddle could get his knowledge and further his standing in Slytherin at one go!

It was brilliant. Harry gazed at Riddle with a newfound sense of respect. Feeling Harry’s eyes on him, Riddle winked conspiratorially. Harry looked away, feeling a warmth in his cheeks. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling sheepish all the while. He didn’t know what the emotion pooling at the bottom of his stomach was, but he knew he didn’t like it.

-

That night in the Slytherin common room, Riddle, Draco and Harry sat together in front of the fire to make plans for their new Philosophy club. The boys had already got together a list of the most promising Slytherins and were just creating a list of readings for them to discuss. Though Draco refused to acknowledge it, Tom was clearly the leader of their little group, bringing up the names of books and famous thinkers as Harry scribbled them down on a piece of parchment.

“You know, Father’s glad we’d decided to do this,” Draco said suddenly. Harry looked confusedly at Draco. Lucius Malfoy was not one to usually take an interest in the extra-curricular activities of his son. To Draco’s father, as long as Draco maintained his grades and social standing, Lucius couldn’t care less what he did in his spare time. That was the only reason why Draco had gotten away with his brief affair with Harry. Though the boys never spoke of it, they both had an understanding that their romance could never be permanent. Draco had been engaged to Astoria Greengrass since he was born. There was no way Draco would break centuries of tradition for Harry, even if he was a Black.

“There’s been talks in the Ministry about a Triwizard tournament.” Draco continued, “It’s very dangerous, and was discontinued years ago because the competitors kept on dying. Tragedies on an international scale aren’t very palatable to the public, and so the tournament was stopped. After Grindelwald’s defeat, however, some members of the Wizengamot suggested that the Tournament be used as a morale-booster, with the tasks being centred towards Light spells and unconventional challenges. Father suspects that they’d test us on something Muggle because Dumbledore’s been gearing towards that for years now.”

 “How can we enter, though? We’re just schoolchildren.” Harry asked. 

“Well, we’d just qualify for the age requirement, so I suppose there are some restrictions. Father hopes that I’ll be the school champion. He’s always going on about how I should’ve gone to Durmstrang, though that was moot after it came out that Grindelwald was waging war there. He probably wants me to show them Durmstrang folk what they missed out on.” Draco said loftily.

“Durmstrang?” Riddle repeated.

“Yes, Durmstrang. All the famous European schools will be here, so we’d likely be seeing Beauxbatons as well. They’re the French school that’s all about etiquette. No barbarians like Crabbe and Goyle there. No Beauxbaton student would ever be caught stuffing their faces with pudding.” Upon hearing their names, Crabbe and Goyle looked up and grunted in unison. Harry shuddered. Sometimes, he wondered if the two thugs shared a brain, like an oversized Flobberworm.

-

It was weeks later when Harry finally got a chance to speak to Weasley after dinner at the Great Hall. He hadn’t had any more of those mysterious dreams, but he didn’t want to take any chances. 

“Hey, Ron! Wait up.” Ron turned around quickly upon hearing his name. When he realised it was Harry, he slowed to a halt and gave Harry a hesitant smile. Though they’d hit it off in Transfiguration, there was still the ever-present spectre of the famous Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry to contend with.

“So, I was serious when I asked if you were having any dreams recently. I’ve been having some weird ones about playing chess with you in the Gryffindor common room? The dream seemed too real to be just my imagination, so I thought it’d be good to ask you about it. I was hoping it was something environmental?”

Ron’s face turned grim. “Mate, visions of any sort are never a good sign. And no, I haven’t seen anything, though that’s no reason to worry too much. Maybe it was just an overactive imagination, or you huffed too much of the fumes in the Potions class that day. I had some pretty nasty dreams the night after we brewed that Swelling Solution in second year. It was kind of like your dream, except I was friends with Hermione Granger and she was all _studious_ like she was in first year. Must’ve been me hallucinating, because there was no way I would be friends with someone that swotty.”

“I’ve had dreams about Granger too! We were studying in the library, researching about Nicholas Flamel. You were there too, Ron.” Ron’s brow furrowed as Harry said this.

“That complicates things a lot. If we were really dreaming about the same thing, it’s probably not an accident then. But honestly, Hermione isn’t anything like that now. She’s one of those giggling girls who completely loses her head anytime a Sixth Year so much as looks as her. Though, if you really want, I’ll ask her if she’s had any of those dreams, or if she’s read anything about visions in our textbooks. There’s no harm, though I doubt there’s any use in asking. It’s a real shame. McGonagall used to think she’d be the first Gryffindor to beat the Ravenclaws so thoroughly in fifty years.” Ron trailed off, regretfully. “Even though she was a know-it-all, and an annoying one to boot, she was more interesting back then. Now, she’s just another Lavender Brown.”


End file.
